


Custodial Interference

by Lucy Gillam (cereta)



Series: Hanging Work [3]
Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-01
Updated: 2011-03-01
Packaged: 2017-10-16 00:57:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/166730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cereta/pseuds/Lucy%20Gillam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two tickets to a circus never used, a little boy forgotten, and a chance meeting. Of such things are legends made. Part III of the Hanging Work Series.</p><p>They couldn't avoid him forever, could they?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Custodial Interference

He almost skipped his patrol of Dunning Street. Three weeks after escaping from Arkham, the Scarecrow had finally made an appearance at Gotham General, pumping gas into the maternity ward as a diversion while he raided various labs for supplies. It had taken nearly five hours to get everyone and everything settled. The doctors weren't yet sure what effect the gas would have on the children, and Batman had made a mental note to quietly step up WayneTech's work on finding antitoxins to combat the gas. By 3:30 a.m. he was tired and sore, and almost ready to ignore the rest of his planned patrol.

Except he hadn't been to Dunning Street and the surrounding blocks at all this week, and if he waited until tomorrow, it would be the same day he'd patrolled it last week. And while a semblance of a pattern might lull the criminals into a false sense of security, it was better to stick to a carefully random plan of patrol.

The strip of shops along Dunning Street were not frequent targets, but they were victims of spontaneous stupidity from time to time, the window smash-and-grab that people who unexpectedly found themselves on the street at 3:30 a.m.thought could not possibly come back to haunt them. The people who were expectedly on the street at 3:30 a.m.knew better, much better, although the occasional chemical influence still caused the odd moment of spontaneous stupidity from them.

The stores themselves were mid-level shops, catering to people who were willing to spend a few extra dollars on the principle (or prestige) of shopping at a small, local-owned store instead of a large chain. They were the usual mix of clothing, books, jewelry, and the odd specialty store that such neighborhoods attracted, scattered in with the occasional bar.

The area was quiet tonight, no late drinkers straggling home or the odd resident returning from a party. Tired as he was, he almost missed the figure creeping up an external pipe in the alley between 762 and 764.

Like many such buildings, these had apartments above the stores; not an affluent neighborhood, but a good one. The figure was small, too small to be an adult. It was not uncommon for Batman to see a teenager sneaking back in at night, although usually only through front doors and the occasional fire escape or roof.

The figure reached the rooftop, and Batman aimed his binoculars at it.

The boy was young, still a child, if right on the edge of adolescence.

And he was wearing a mask.

It was not as unusual as someone from another city might have thought. In a city protected by a man in a mask, it happened, even (or perhaps especially) with children. Criminals, thrill-seekers, children playing make-believe -- masks were not so unusual.

What was unusual were the neatness and obvious quality of the plain black outfit, form-fitting except where it bunched around his wrists and ankles (room to grow into, Batman registered almost idly), gloves of stretch fabric not often made for children's hands. Also unusual were the tools tucked discreetly into parts of that outfit: a lock-pick through the fabric at the forearm, a coil of black rope at the waist, obviously not a discount-store purchase.

And the skill with which he'd climbed the wall was exceptional, as was the silence with which he now walked across the rooftop.

Batman nodded to himself and pulled out a jumpline of his own. The odds that this boy was just sneaking out for the night had just gone down considerably.

The boy saw him just before he landed, and after a moment's start flipped backwards onto the roof's edge.

"Um...I don't suppose there's any point in saying this isn't what it looks like?" His voice supported Batman's assessment of his age, still a bit high, with the threat of cracking under the surface.

"I'm open to an explanation." He doubted there was one, but it would be nice to learn someone so young wasn't already on the path of crime.

The boy frowned for a minute, then grinned. "Damn. Probably should have thought of something in advance, shouldn't I? Oh, well. Bye!" And with that, he launched himself backwards off the roof.

Batman rushed to the edge, only to hear the clang of metal even before he saw the boy grabbing the edge of the fire escape and flinging himself further down. He was moving rapidly, and with that same considerable agility. Batman shot another line into the next building and swung down, managing to land on the fire escape just below the boy and grab his wrist as he swung down.

"Hey!" The boy reached around and grabbed Batman's wrist with his other hand, using it to swing himself around into a kick aimed squarely at the yellow bat on his chest. Batman had just enough time to think that the move was familiar before his own dodge slammed him into the stairs, causing his grip to relax just enough for the boy to slip out. He scrambled quickly up the back of the stairs, but Batman was already reaching for him, knowing he could grab an ankle before the boy could get far enough away.

The whip that encircled his wrist took him completely by surprise.

He followed the line of the whip back to its source as the boy scrambled out of reach.

"Ah-ah. That's mine."

Catwoman.

She was perched on the railing several feet away, wearing the same outfit as the last time he'd seen her, just after the Hangman case had come to its grisly end. He'd known she was still in town, still operating, but her thievery was quiet, non-violent, a low priority in the increasingly bizarre world of Gotham's criminal activity. Or so he told himself when he ran across the odd report that might have been her handiwork.

There had been nothing to indicate she had a partner.

Batman shook himself from his surprise and grabbed the whip, yanking it and her forward. Out of one eye, he saw the boy disappearing back onto the roof and knew that if he didn't follow now, he would lose the trail entirely.

A booted foot swinging at his face demanded his full attention, and he dodged. "Now, now," Catwoman said. "I'd tell you to pick on someone your own size, but really, who would that leave?" She kicked again, and he grabbed her foot, using it to push her off-balance onto the grate.

"Who is he?" he demanded.

She smiled up at him. "Not that this isn't fun, darling, but I really must be going. Previous engagement." She grabbed her whip and flung herself over the side of the fire escape.

Torn for a critical moment between following her and going after the boy, Batman did neither.

More information. He needed more information.

~~~

"Difficult night, Master Bruce?"

Alfred was waiting, as usual, with a towel and impeccably prepared food and a large pitcher of water. A bottle of wine stood open, as well, although Bruce seldom drank. Alfred frequently made it available in the hopes that it would encourage him to immediate sleep.

"What do you remember about Selina Kyle?" he asked in answer, pulling back his cowl and wiping the night's sweat from his face.

"Miss Kyle? Were you considering remaking her acquaintance? Or... Oh, dear. You didn't encounter her alter ego again, did you, sir?"

Making the connection between Catwoman and Selina Kyle had not been difficult; he'd been halfway to putting it together when Catwoman's three-month absence had coincided with Selina's. He supposed that Selina would be surprised he'd even noticed she was gone, and in truth, with all that was going on at the time, he almost hadn't. If she'd had no connection to the Falcones, he might not have.

"Did she ever mention any family?" She hadn't to Bruce, but considering the overall tenor of their time together, that was not really conclusive.

"Not that I recall, sir, but we had very few discussions of such things. When we talked, it was generally about you."

He ignored the mild rebuke as he had so many others. He'd gotten good at ignoring them. "She was working with a partner tonight, a boy, early teens, I think." He took a long drink of water, and settled in the chair in front of his computer. "Does Bruce Wayne have any early meetings tomorrow?"

"If you are referring to _today_ , sir," Alfred said, looking rather pointedly at the clock, "no. Mr. Fox long ago despaired of getting you to any meeting before eleven."

"Good. I'll need some coffee, Alfred, and some help in a couple of hours. There's something I'll need to check out."

He was good at ignoring the long-suffering sighs, too.

~~~

Selina was in a different apartment than when they'd been dating, and to his surprise, it was not as opulent as her last. It was still in one of Gotham's nicer neighborhoods, still beyond the reach of most of the city's denizens, but it was a building occupied by professionals and their families rather than the crowd of Gotham's Beautiful People whom she'd lived near before. He wondered briefly what Selina told them she did for a living.

As a result, a number of children and teenagers came out between seven and eight in the morning. None of them noticed the tall man with the neat goatee sipping coffee at the corner Sanddollars. Just one of many faceless adults they passed every day as mothers and nannies and various others led them to school. They were all too caught up in their conversations, in last-minute homework and permission slips.

One boy, a dark-haired boy in his early teens, though, was looking around the street even as he spoke with a girl. If she noticed his distraction, the charming smile he flashed at her probably made up for it, Bruce guessed. He'd used that sort of smile a few times himself.

The hair, the build, the lower half of the face: everything was right. So was the expansive yawn and the faint hint of tiredness in his walk. Selina was nowhere in sight.

Bruce briefly considered following him, but given the way the boy was looking around, he decided that might be pushing it. He wondered if the boy was always this wary, or if Selina had told him to be on guard after last night. He'd never told her that he knew who she was, nor had Batman told Catwoman, but she was clever enough to be on alert.

Instead, he reached into his briefcase and took out a blue folder, the sort sold during back-to-school sales. Alfred used them to organize household papers. He would probably be irked to find this one gone, but he'd just sigh again. It was filled with ruled paper bought from an all-night drugstore.

Bruce walked across the street, stopping to bend over a part of the sidewalk that had been in the children's path, and approached the building's doorman.

"Excuse me," he said, flashing the trustworthy smile he had spent several years in college perfecting. "I was across the street, and I saw this fall out of a young man's backpack. About so tall," he held up his hand, "dark hair, wearing a blue jacket? I remember how horrible it was to lose homework, the teachers never believe you, do they? Anyway, do you know who it might have been?"

The doorman nodded, answering his smile with a professional version. "I believe I do, sir. I'll make sure his sister gets this so she can give it to him. Thank you for being so considerate."

"Oh, no problem." He knew he wasn't going to get a name out of the man; people in buildings like this paid too much rent for that. But "sister" was enough information to get started. "Have a nice day."

"You as well, sir."

His car was parked in a public lot a few blocks down, and as soon as he'd turned the ignition key, he dialed the manor.

"Alfred. I need you to make a few phone calls."

~~~

Schools generally do not like answering questions about their pupils, but they will to the right agency -- or someone doing a very convincing job of being from that agency. Fortunately, Alfred could be very convincing when he needed to be.

"Richard Kyle" had enrolled at PS 241 the previous fall. His sister, also his legal guardian, had explained that the boy had been homeschooled by his aunt prior to her death the previous year. He'd been placed in a grade simply by his age, which was apparently fourteen.

He'd done well, too, albeit with a slightly high rate of absence. Asthma, his sister had explained, providing the doctor's note that also got him out of gym class. But his grades hovered in the B range, with the odd A in science and history and C in math.

Batman watched the building for much of the first night after meeting the boy, from several angles, but he did not discount the possibility that they might have made it out without him seeing. He scanned the police reports carefully the next day.

"Anything of interest, sir?" Alfred asked when supplying his 11:00 a.m. eggs and coffee.

"Nothing to indicate they were working last night. No thefts or break-ins that match her usual M.O.."

"It is, of course, possible that they took the evening off. People do occasionally do such a thing."

Pointed remarks were another thing he'd learned to ignore.

He watched the second night as long as he dared, but was rewarded only by a scene of the boy (Dick, the school personnel had called him) doing homework in front of the television. Again, the police reports showed nothing.

The third night he watched until Selina shooed the boy off to bed. Just as he was reluctantly leaving for a normal patrol, he saw a figure emerge from the window of the boy's bedroom. For a dizzying moment he hung from the sill by only one hand, but then a jumpline dropped and the boy lowered himself to the nearest ledge and began moving along it with an ease that belied the narrow surface and high winds.

Batman extended his own line and followed.

Keeping up turned out to be something of a challenge. His acrobatic display the other night proved to be only the tip of the iceberg as he ran exuberantly across rooftops, often flipping and springing to get from one building to the next.

Remaining undetected, on the other hand, was easy enough. The boy was paying only scant attention to his surroundings, obviously caught up in the joy of being out and moving.

After half an hour, the boy finally stopped on a rooftop. Batman could see the smile even from a distance as the boy sat on the roof's edge, looking out at the city.

Making a decision, Batman stepped onto the roof, deliberately allowing his footsteps to make noise.

The boy started, and turned, instantly leaping up into a ready posture, looking around as if for the best direction in which to flee.

"Wait," Batman said. "Dick," he added, keeping his voice neutral. There was no way for him not to look intimidating: that had been the whole point of the persona. But he could avoid the posture and voice that added to the effect.

Even through the mask, the boy's surprise was evident. "Wow, you are good. Se…she thought you might know who she was, plus the folder thing. That was you, wasn't it? Cool," he added with a grin, seeming genuinely impressed, or maybe flattered. Perhaps that would make this easier.

"Dick," he said, suddenly aware of just how bad he was at this sort of thing, "you know you don't have to be doing this. Whatever she's told you, you have choices. There are other--"

Laughter, high and genuine, interrupted him.

The boy covered his mouth to smother the laughter, snorts and giggles escaping. "I'm sorry," he said. "I shouldn't laugh, I know. I mean, you're _Batman_. You're big and scary and like the last guy anyone should laugh at. It's just you were so _serious_ , and all guidance-counselory, and man, you just don't _know_."

Batman frowned. Maybe intimidating was the way to go. "You're breaking the law," he said, putting more force behind it. "Very bad things will happen when you're caught. And you will be caught."

That seemed to stifle the laughter. The boy chewed on his lower lip for a moment. "By you? Catwoman says you have bigger fish to fry."

"That could change." The anger in the words was real this time. It was one thing for Catwoman to take advantage of their past association and his subsequent blind eye to her activities. It was another for her to think that he would similarly ignore her involving a child in those activities.

The boy regarded him, his head titling in a manner that (probably unconsciously) echoed Catwoman. "You're worried about me, aren't you? You think she's tricking me, or making me do this, or something like that, don't you? You shouldn't. She's not."

"You're a child," Batman replied. "I know at your age you don't think you're a child, but you are."

The boy grinned again. "If you say so. It's just that those choices you mentioned? I know what they are. I've tried a few of them. And believe me, this is the best one." He looked over the edge of the building. "Are you gonna chase me again?"

Batman looked at the boy, then at their surroundings. He could, of course. He would probably catch him, and odds were good that Catwoman would not arrive to interfere. He could turn the boy over to the police, and the wheels would go into motion from there.

Or the boy could be hurt in the pursuit, overestimate his skill, miss a grip, or fall.

"Not tonight," he said. "Go home."

The boy saluted. "Yes, sir!" With that, he threw himself off the building.

Batman began his nightly patrol, considering his options even as he watched for activity on the streets. It would only take one phone call to the right person in children's services, a suggestion that "Richard Kyle's" situation and background be investigated, or a flat-out statement that the woman he was living with was not, in fact, his sister. The same wheels would go into motion, wheels that might treat the boy more kindly if they knew nothing of his criminal activity. That knowledge could be withheld, used only in the event that Selina somehow covered her tracks.

He considered these options all through the night, turning them over in his mind later as he tried to sleep. Several times during the afternoon, in between meetings and a late lunch and a function he left far too early, he found his hand hovering over the phone. Alfred was curiously quiet on the whole subject, quiet in general, supplying various meals and clothing without comment or even a reproachful look.

As night settled on the city, he found himself once again looking at the windows of Selina Kyle's apartment. The drapes in all the rooms were drawn, but he could see shadows of moving figures going about what seemed like a normal evening. He saw Dick approach Selina and give her a quick hug, then retreat from the main room.

As the light in his room went out, Selina appeared at a different window. She scanned the buildings across the street, up and down, right and left. Her eyes passed over his place in the shadows twice, but she gave no sign of actually seeing him. After a moment, she held up a piece of paper and pressed it against the glass.

In thick purple ink, it read, "Roof of the Havisham Building. 2am. Tonight." She held it there for perhaps ten minutes, and then stepped back and closed the curtain.

Batman checked the time. 2:00 a.m. would give him enough time for a quick patrol of at least two neighborhoods, even allowing for routine trouble. And then he would get some answers.

~~~

The rooftop she'd chosen was the tallest of a dense cluster of buildings around the financial district, with plenty of places to jump and duck. He was somewhat surprised to find her already waiting. Her usual style was to sneak up on him, sometimes with her whip.

She was crouched on the roof's edge in her usual cat-like pose, and he recognized her influence on the boy's movements earlier, and perhaps just a trace of his influence on her now, in the way she balanced.

She regarded him silently for a long moment, the same slight smile on her face that she'd had in so many meetings. He had always found the smugness in that smile slightly annoying; now he found it infuriating. As if he were the one who needed to explain himself.

"Talk," he said.

"Did you have a subject in mind," she asked in the same sultry purr she too often used, "or should I guess?"

"Three nights ago. Last night."

"Ah, yes. You were supposed to be occupied the first time, you know. You finished with Dr. Crane far sooner than I expected. Really very inconsiderate of you."

"You and Crane…?" It wasn't her usual style to work with someone so volatile, but after the last few days, he was beginning to wonder if he knew anything about her usual style.

"Don't be silly. I listen to the news the same as everyone else. Something that would keep you busy was bound to happen sooner or later. It always does. It's hardly my fault that Crane was so incompetent this time."

"No games!" he growled. "This is a child, Selina. You're using a _child_."

"Using is such an ugly word, darling," she replied. "I prefer mentoring. Teaching. Taking under my wing."

"He's stealing for you."

She shifted to sit on the roof's edge, crossing her legs deliberately and affecting a relaxed posture. "Well, I wouldn't say so much for me as for us. Do you know how much growing boys eat? Not to mention how fast he goes through sneakers."

"Catwoman…"

"Oh, honestly, darling. Do you know how bedraggled he was when I took him in?"

"He's not one of your stray cats!"

"No, true. For one thing, he has opposable thumbs for climbing, instead of claws. Although he does climb nearly as well, and lands on his feet about as often."

"You can't just keep him, take away his chance at a normal life." He took a step forward, letting his boots grind the rooftop beneath them.

She tensed almost imperceptibly, but he could see that she was ready to move. The little smile disappeared. "Do you want to know what else he has in common with my cats? He was abandoned in this city by careless people, left to choose between fending for himself in alleys or being caught by a system that threw him in with hundreds of other strays, and might very well have killed him." She tilted her head. "Did you find out who he was?"

Batman frowned, not wanting to admit that he hadn't.

"Not yet, I imagine. I'm sure it would have just been a matter of time. Or maybe not. He's not from Gotham, you know. His parents were murdered here, and the police made him stay as a material witness." She smiled again, but without the smugness. "You caught their killer, actually. Or, well, gave him a fatal heart attack, which I suppose amounts to the same thing."

Batman froze. Tony Zucco. A circus extortion scheme, a pair of trapeze artists murdered. He'd had tickets that night, had intended to take Selina, but had spent the night searching for the Hangman instead. He'd known there was a little boy involved, of course, but in the chaos that had been that year, the larger problem of the mob killings and police murders, had never learned more about the victims.

Grayson. Their name had been Grayson.

"Funny thing is," she continued, "no one was interested in one little boy after that. No family, and they wouldn't let him go to the only people who wanted him."

Things had changed in the last twenty-five years, of course, but even then, a system that did not look twice at a butler raising the city's richest orphan might not have been so trusting of a group of roaming carnies.

Catwoman leaned forward, as if sensing that she had hit a nerve. "The boy is talented. I can take credit for some of it, but not all. He's a natural. In this city, the odds of that getting noticed were pretty high."

Hanging in the air unsaid was that in Gotham, she was far from the worst person who could have noticed him.

"He's a _child_ ," Batman repeated. There was no getting past that, none.

"That he is," she agreed lightly. "Shall I tell you how many of the girls in the East End are his age? Younger, even? Or the boys, for that matter? Possibly you didn't notice, but he's really very pretty. He'd fit right in there. How many of them have you saved from their life of crime? Oh, you've tried, I'm sure. But if you scare away the johns, they don't eat. If you beat up the pimps, they just pass it along to their charges, or someone else comes to take their place, or even better, the kids are left defenseless." The mockery was gone, replaced by bitterness.

For a moment, the unfairness of her accusation made him want to strike back, because he _had_ tried, and Bruce Wayne had funded shelters and countless programs, and none of it ever really seemed to make a dent. He turned away, looking down on his city. So many places he couldn't be. So many he couldn't save.

 _"It's just that those choices you mentioned? I know what they are. I've tried a few of them. And believe me, this is the best one."_

She had him in school. Had moved to a building filled with families. Had done more, apparently, than anyone else in Gotham.

"I can't go along with this, Selina," he finally said. "I can't watch it happen here and not stop it." He looked back at her, hoping, knowing she was smart enough to see what he was saying.

She nodded. "You won't see him again, then." A siren sounded in the distance, and she nodded towards it, her smile almost genuine. "Why don't you leave first this time? It would be a refreshing change of pace, and you have work to do."

Batman reached for his jumpline. He did have work to do, and it was time for him to do it.

~~~

Two nights later, Selina Kyle's apartment was dark, and her name was gone from the mailbox. A quick inquiry revealed that "Richard Kyle" was no longer a student at PS 241, and the school had been told that he and his sister had had to move suddenly.

Another uprooting, another move, another loss of stability. The boy was no doubt used to such a life; Batman had spent much of the early morning reading what little he had on the Flying Graysons, and the closest they'd had to a permanent home had been the town in Florida where the circus had wintered, but even then they'd seldom stayed more than a few months. Bruce, who'd lived in the same house his whole life except for his own voluntary wanderings, couldn't help but feel a twinge at the boy losing the only place he'd lived for longer than a year.

The next night, the Joker broke out of Arkham, and occupied Batman's full attention for the next three weeks in a grim and dizzying spree. When it was over, when the first report of a female catburgler in an odd costume who might or might not have been working with a smaller partner came in from Lost Angeles, he told himself that he had enough to focus on without tracking down two non-violent thieves.

Gotham was his priority, just as it always had been.

**Author's Note:**

> Elynross made this better.


End file.
